Wildest Dreams
by cas-the-unicorn
Summary: Sometimes, dreams are better than reality. For Steve, Peggy is better than anything.


**Hey guys, I know I'm in the middle of Memories Lost, but I thought of this, and I needed to write it before my writing energy disappeared.**

_~Say you'll remember me,_

_Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe_

_Red lips and rosy cheeks_

_Say you'll see me again, even if its just in your_

_Wildest dreams~_

"You're such a gentleman."

Steve opened his eyes to see his hands holding a door open for Peggy.

She smiled slightly. "Well? Come on, Steve, I told you I would teach you how to dance."

Peggy took his hand in hers and led him into the restaurant. It was a fancy one, for the fourties. This was the kind of place that served food that Steve and Bucky couldn't have afforded a leaf of. About ten couples' tables surrounded a dim makeshift dance floor. Only one table table was occupied, and the floor was empty.

"Should we begin the lessons before or after dinner, Captain Rogers?" asked Peggy.

Steve smiled and replied, "I don't want to end the evening on an bad note."

Rolling her eyes, Peggy assured him, "You'll be fine. I am rather hungry, and the first rule of dancing is that you shouldn't do it on an empty stomach."

"Well, you know best."

They walked hand in hand to a table at the back corner of the restaurant. Steve couldn't believe how real this looked. It had to be a dream, but with him in his army uniform and Peggy in a gorgeous long dress that matched her lips, this felt more real to him than anything in the 21st century.

Steve pulled out the chair for Peggy, and she smiled as she sat down.

As soon as they were both seated, a waiter arrived.

"And what would the lovely couple like to drink?"

"Would you happen to have tea?" Peggy asked.

"We sure do! Cream and sugar?"

"I'll add it myself."

He turned to Steve. "And you, sir?"

"I'll just have a water."

"Comin' right up!"

As the man walked away, Steve raised an eyebrow at Peggy. "Wow, picky."

She lifted her chin. "I learned a while ago that Americans have no idea how to make good tea," which provoked a laugh from Steve.

The waiter returned with their drinks and asked for their orders.

Peggy thought for a moment. "I would like to have the ham and string bean savoury, please."

He jotted it down and turned to Steve. "And you?"

Steve knew exactly what he wanted. He had always wanted to try it, but his mom could never afford the ingredients, and he and Bucky had never been well-off enough to eat at the fancy restaurants that served it.

"Creamed oyster, please."

The waiter confirmed the orders and said, "Alright, it'll be out soon!"

They were quiet for a few moments until Peggy coughed.

Steve glanced at her and saw that she had her head angled down, but she looked up when he cleared his throat.

"Oh, um, I was just going to tell you that, well, oyster is dreadful."

Steve gasped indignantly. "What?"

She suppressed a giggle. "Yeah, it is. Especially creamed."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You looked so excited to try it."

"Well, thank you for the heads up."

Peggy finally outright laughed, exclaiming, "I just didn't want you to be surprised!"

"I guess I'll just have to take a bit of yours, then." Steve winked.

They both laughed for a moment, and they faded into a familiar, comfortable silence. He took this opportunity to look, really look, at Peggy for the first time that night. This experience was feeling more real by the second; Peggy's lips were red and lovely as ever, her mouth still quirking up on the side when she teased him, and her brown curls shone just as they had on Stark's plane.

Maybe this was real. As Peggy excused herself and he distractedly watched her walk over to the nearby shelves lining the restaurant's walls, he allowed himself to imagine that it was real. Maybe he had gone to sleep with the Howling Commandos one night, and dreamt he had crashed a plane and woken up in 2012. If that had happened, then Bucky could still be alive. His nightmare could be finally over. He could have his life back with his best girl and his best friend. God, he wanted it to be true. He quietly shuffled in his seat and asked, "Hey, um, what's Bucky up to?"

Peggy looked up from shelf of newspapers she was shuffling through . "Oh, didn't he tell you? He missed his flight back to New York, so he'll be getting here next Tuesday."

Steve tried to hide his amazement. He really did have his life back. He had his friends again, and the war was over, and Peggy was going to teach him to dance, and Bucky was coming home in a few days.

"I must not have been listening."

Peggy grinned. "He does tend to babble a bit, doesn't he?"

Steve smiled at her, joy bubbling up in his chest. "He sure does."

The waiter returned with two plates of food. "The best food in the house for the best couple in the house!"

Steve looked around - they were the only couple in here now.

He exchanged a glance with Peggy and saw that she had noticed the decided lack of other diners and was desperately trying not to laugh. The waiter chuckled at his joke and said, "Here you go. Don't eat it too fast!"

He sped back to the kitchen. Steve glanced at Peggy, uncertainty marring his face as he looked at his long-awaited creamed oyster soup.

"Should I try it?"

Peggy shrugged playfully. "You should at least experience it for yourself."

Steve uneasily scooped an oyster out of its shell, braced himself, and took a bite.

That thing tasted worse than Bucky's attempts at breakfast when they were stationed in Germany. but he couldn't let Peggy win this round, so he quickly washed it down with his water and beamed at an expectant Peggy.

"Awful?"

"Nope. This is absolutely delicious."

Peggy laughed out loud and pushed her plate to the middle of the table. "We can share mine."

He wiped his spoon off on his napkin and finally let himself shudder. "God bless you, my lady."

Her plate was immaculate within five minutes, and their utensils clinked as they set them down.

Peggy smirked, daintily wiped her hands on her napkin, and stood up, holding her hand out to Steve. "Care to dance, Captain Rogers?"

"I'm afraid I'll step on your toes."

"You'd be the first, because I am an excellent teacher."

Her hands were just as soft and her grip just as assured as he remembered.

Peggy situated them in the middle of the dance floor. She instructed, "Put your right hand on my hip."

Steve hesitantly lifted his left hand and placed it on her hip.

"Your other right hand."

"Oh. Um."

He put his right hand on her hip and she laid her left hand on his shoulder.

"Good. Now, take my hand."

"Okay."

Peggy tried to show him how to lead, but after fifteen minutes of him blushing and stumbling, she gave up and switched tactics.

"Okay, just look at my feet, and follow my lead. Step to your left, no, just with your left foot, okay, now follow it with your right..."

They eventually got into a rhythm. Steve decided to just slide his feet, so he couldn't step on Peggy's toes; at least, not step on them more than he already had.

Customers began trickling in as the late night rush started and staff scurried between tables. They were oblivious to the growing chatter and clatter of the busy restaurant, lost in their boxstep haze. Steve eventually began to lead, and Peggy let him. With his new confidence, he allowed himself to unglue his eyes from his shoes and he focused on her face. He saw every smile wrinkle, every flyaway, every imperfection that made her just...perfect.

She slowly rested her head on his shoulder, and they swayed back and forth for a while.

Their waiter poked his head from the kitchen and called, "Hey, lovebirds, make sure you pay before you leave!"

His smooth confidence wavered as he noticed the now crowded tables surrounding them. Flustered, Steve called back, "We will!" He didn't take his eyes off Peggy for one moment.

Steve and Peggy had their own world for the first time. They had met during the one of the worst wars in history, and now, almost unbelievably, they were able to relax. They had the chance to get to know each other and love each other free from the stress and pressures of war. Steve was not about to let that chance get away.

When he leaned down towards Peggy's lovely dark red lips, he found her tilting her head up to meet him.

For the first time, he didn't blush or stutter when he met her eyes. He quietly said, "Ms. Carter, I thought I should let you know that I love you."

Her face broke out into a radiant smile as she replied, "Thank you for informing me. Oh, perhaps I should let you know too - I love you too, Captain."

Their foreheads touched, and Steve closed his eyes...

Only to open them to the ceiling of his room in Stark Tower.

No, he thought, slowly pushing himself up.

No, no, no! He just about fell off the bed and scrambled to the window. The busy streets of 21st century New York glared back at him.

No, no, no no no no no no nononoNO!

What kind of sick world was this, that it could just dangle his real life on a string in front of him, just to snatch it away? Why let him have a sweet taste of his home, if he couldn't keep it?

Tears clouded his vision as he sunk back down onto his most-likely-million-dollar mattress, with its plastic fluff filled pillows and room to fit a family. How is that even possible?

This, _this_ had to be the dream. This had to be a nightmare. There was no possible way that Steve could have crashed an aeroplane into the ocean, and woken up 70 years later, still looking 23. That was fiction, a fairytale, like the ones his mother used to read to him when he was sick. Sure, being injected with a supersoldier serum also seemed pretty unlikely, but that was a definite in both realities. It was far more likely that he actually had a girlfriend, and they had won the war, and he lived in his actual time period.

This was definitely the dream. God couldn't be cruel enough to take his life away from him twice, could he?

Steve forced himself off the comforter and to the door. In a stumbling haze, he found his way to the kitchen. With much searching, he was able to find Tony's liquor cabinet. He may not have been able to get drunk, but he could still feel the uncomfortable burning sensation of the poison going through his throat.

And he did.

Steve drained a whole shelf of bottles filled to the brim and covered the bar he was sitting at with empty glasses. He didn't even feel buzzed. But it was still worth a shot, right?

As he reached to begin the next shelf, he heard a voice behind him say, "Are those Tony's?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see Pepper Potts leaning on the counter.

Sniffing, Steve replied, "Um yeah. You don't think he'll mind, do you?"

"Oh, he will probably punch you in the face, but I'd rather someone who can't get drunk drink them than Tony, who's liver most likely looks like a grape."

Steve laughed lightly. Pepper was pretty funny. He had never really had a conversation with her, though. Tony was sort of possessive when it came to his assistant. But, Steve was relieved that she had been the one to wake up to the sound of his late-night collapse. He couldn't imagine Natasha's reaction, or Tony's, for that matter.

"Tough night?" Pepper questioned while moving to sit next to him.

Looking down, he replied, "Sort of."

"You want to elaborate on that?"

Steve hesitated. Should he really complain to her about getting to spend the night with Peggy? She would find that good.

"Come on, lay it on me. You don't have to be embarrassed," Pepper assured him, as if reading his thoughts.

Steve took a deep breath. "I went on my date with Peggy. We ate, we danced, I told her I loved her... Then I woke up."

Pepper's expression turned sympathetic.

But Steve didn't want to be pitied. He didn't want anyone to try to help him get used to this century, or learn its new lingo and methods. He didn't feel the need to catch up on the last seventy years he had slept through. He didn't want anyone to think that he needed to meet new people, get into new habits, find himself a new family, a new girl. He didn't want to like it here. Steve, the whole duration of his 21st century experience, held onto the hope that this was temporary. That he would, someday, return to his life of respect, and appropriate clothing, and good music. This time, it was a whole different world! Women, even teenagers, wore shirts that were barely swimsuits, and shorts shorter than their underwear! Children disrespected the elderly couples on the street, men let doors close in women's faces! No one could make him stop wishing he could go home.

Steve couldn't, wouldn't, believe that he was stick in this nightmare for the rest of his life.

"Steve, you don't have to be strong all the time," Pepper told him quietly. "You don't have to pretend that you are comfortable here, or that you are adjusting, or that you are okay. You lost your whole life. You are allowed to act like it."

Steve turned his head to look at her, but was at a loss of words. Pepper was trying to help, he could see that, but she didn't understand the depth of his situation. This wasn't like that Back To The Future movie Tony insisted that he watch. Steve couldn't punch in a few buttons and drive himself home-he was stranded.

Oh, that's a good word. Stranded. Steve was stranded 70 years in the future, and he could never go home. He was on a little island, and it was barely big enough to for his despair, let alone a life.

"Steve?"

Pepper's voice jolted him back from his daze of misery.

"I'm going to," he swallowed, "I'm going to head back to bed."

Steve stood up methodically from the bar and threw away the bottles.

"I'll find a way to pay Tony back."

"There's no need."

Giving her a small smile, Steve murmured, "Good night, Ms. Potts."

He could feel her pity burn into the back of his head as he returned to his room.

The people in his old life couldn't be replaced. Steve couldn't let himself find a new Bucky, or a new Peggy. The Avengers were nicer than most, but they had friends here. They had lives.

Steve could only visit his in his dreams.

As Steve lay down his head on his 2012 pillow, in his 2012 room, he imagined himself pressing his 1944 lips to those of a 1944 Peggy Carter, in a 1944 restaurant, in a 1944 dream.


End file.
